Other Echoes in the Garden
by L'histoire
Summary: Post-series; various stand alone ficlets, fleshing out some of the moments in between years of the Phoenix & the Dragon (but not hinging on the contents of that story). Chapter 1: "Like a bird filled summer," a little RyuMim fluff


A/N: I've had various in-between snippets written down for a long time – things that didn't quite fit into the Phoenix & the Dragon, but were part of the universe (if not main story proper). So, in the interest of not cluttering up that story (which has its own internal logic, such as it is, in its fragmented form) any more than necessary, I'll be shuffling some things over here. I think they are more or less stand-alone pieces, though, that don't really hinge on P&D – with the caveats that they are my imaginings of the post-series universe & I couldn't bring myself to let Cougar die (even though I think that's what the series creators almost certainly intended!). I will note at the beginning of each which Phoenix & Dragon zodiac year (e.g., Boar, Rabbit, and so on) it roughly falls around.

**Year of the Rabbit (II) **This was inspired by a binge on Kenneth Rexroth, the sexiest intellectual poet of the twentieth century (perhaps ever). The title is from another bit of "When We with Sappho" – "Your body spreads across my brain/like a bird filled summer;/Not like a body, not like a separate thing,/But like a nimbus that hovers/Over every other thing in all the world." No infringement intended on any part, as I own nothing & make no claims as such, etc.

_Kiss me again. Think, sweet linguist,  
In this world the ablative is impossible.  
No other will help us here.  
We must help ourselves to each other._

Kenneth Rexroth, "When We with Sappho"

* * *

Unlike most people she knew, Mimori enjoyed the drudgery of paperwork – at least, the sort of paperwork she had to do these days, which meant balancing her accounts and tallying up various notebooks full of daily notes and data. She always fell into a rhythm, and could while away hours tidying and synthesizing. It was possible she liked it so much _because_ it meant she had space to breathe, at least a few times a month: a few hours when she was awake, alert, and could do something that time-consuming, but repetitive. It was positively soothing in comparison to hysterical phone calls from patients, or even the daily grind of running the clinic.

Mimori put her pen down and let herself gaze out into the darkness of early winter, past the chicken coop (that had _chickens_! The fact still delighted her, which in turn delighted Cammy) and Cougar's tree …. It was a clear night, but the moon was just a sliver. Not a particularly good night for stargazing. Though - wrapped in her robe, still warm after a hot bath - she had little desire to head back out again unless absolutely necessary. The stars, as Cougar always reminded her, were just as close now as they had been in the past, and would continue to be so for the foreseeable future.

How many nights had she done this? And yet all she wished for was more of them – quiet, calm nights, knowing everyone was in their appointed place, with precious little threat of things tumbling down like a house of cards. It was impossible, of course, but she hoped it never changed. It helped that things had settled down with _him_. Not even settled down – taken an unexpected, but not at all unwelcome turn. But for the first time since they were children, things were … calm. Certainly ghosts fluttered around all of them … and she had moments of waking up in the middle of the night, wondering if he was still there, would still be there when she woke up in the morning. But those moments of doubt and anxiety were, while not entirely infrequent, overshadowed by all the other bits and pieces that were … something else entirely.

She let out an involuntary squeak as arms encircled her, even though she knew it could be no one _but_ him. He whispered a hello, and she gave a shiver at the feel of his breath on her ear.

'What are you doing?' she whispered back.

'Just wanted to see you. And you are,' he said, as he stood back from her, 'working too hard, as I suspected.'

She twisted in her chair to face him, vaguely aware that her robe was gaping open a little more than would be seemly in moderately polite company.

'Well, Ryu-san, someone has to keep track of whether or not you boys are falling apart, and whether or not I'm actually covering my expenses, patching up people and cows. Besides,' she continued, standing up so as to close the distance between them again. '_You're_ one to talk, you've been out since morning.'

She really had a difficult time believing he was still here. And moreover, that he wasn't simply _here_, but well and truly part of her life in many of the ways she had dreamed of for years, was a fact nearly beyond comprehension. Yet here they were – she pressed against him and took in his scent and the feel of him.

She tried to maintain that appearance in public that nothing had changed, when in fact it seemed as if _everything_ had changed. But behaving like a love struck kid would be unseemly for_ Kiryu-sama_; the old women of the town might faint dead away were she to give rein to her desires. So they carried about their daily business as usual, paths crossing occasionally, but there was something so satisfying now about catching his eyes and seeing _something_. He was still, as Cougar liked to say with a laugh, a true ice cube in public, at least on the outside – but he didn't try to hide _absolutely_ everything these days, and for that she was thankful.

* * *

It was a true pleasure to lay like this, to be able to reach over and touch her and pull her close. To kiss her, ravenously or softly or anything in between, and have her respond with enthusiasm. Initially, and somewhat surprisingly (to him, at least) their usual roles had been reversed: she was a bit shy and unsure of herself, he pulled her gently outward by degrees. She still blushed a lot, which embarrassed her, but he thought it was charming – and flushed cheeks set her off to good advantage, to be sure. But Mimori was, as always, a quick study – one would expect nothing less of a girl genius. She quickly stopped being so self-conscious, and instead became sweetly demanding. But as she pointed out, it wasn't as if she – Lady Doctor-Veterinarian! – was unfamiliar with the human body and all its wondrous complexity, even if she'd had little chance to exercise some of it herself.

He was her first. He had been surprised and (if he could bear to admit it to himself) relieved when she told him in a fit of nervousness, although she had hastily explained that it wasn't entirely out of some sense of loyalty or devotion – '_Can you imagine how awkward that would've been? It's not like I could just sneak off somewhere with someone and not have _every_one know_.' She had laughed at the mere idea. He'd endeavored at that moment to make up for those years, to show her she hadn't missed much in not having a handful of transitory couplings.

_What were they like?_ she had asked once, apparently more out of curiosity than any sense of jealousy.

_Who?_

_The others_, she had replied simply, tracing lazy patterns on his chest with a finger.

_They just … were._

What else was there to say? It had never, ever been anything like this – and there was never the pretense that it would be, someday, for either party. A night or two, an excuse for human contact that was safe – no danger of messy entanglements, feelings to be hurt, lives to be left in limbo.

He had tried so hard to keep her at a safe distance because she _was_ so different. Some part of him had always known that once he had given himself over to the idea of her, having her close, having her like this, he would never be able to reconcile himself to anything different. He had known at 18, without even having to ponder it at length, that she would overwhelm every carefully placed defense he had put up over the years without even trying. It had been an instantaneous reaction to seeing her again all those years ago. And indeed, she had - guilelessly. Unlike the other temporary, more or less anonymous entanglements, he would never want to leave, couldn't even imagine the prospect. They promised not to talk of the future, but he knew this could be no fleeting dalliance, and he hoped she knew it, too.

She shifted on top of him, and he ran his hands down the body he was still learning – she did, as Cammy sometimes sighed dreamily, look a bit like those old paintings of court women, especially when she let her hair down and it ran over both of them like black silk. But she was tempered steel cloaked in a pretty exterior. He hadn't realized that when she first returned. He'd thought, as many others had, that _Miss Kiryu_ was simply a spoiled heiress, at best an academic who had never gotten her hands dirty a day in her life and didn't know the _true_ meaning of hard work. It was an unfair assumption, as had been made readily apparent even then: he paid enough attention to her whereabouts in those days to note she spent many late hours alone in the lab. But she'd always maintained her serene demeanor – outwardly, at least – and played that particular part of the princess role to perfection.

'What're you thinking about?' she asked lazily, entirely un-ladylike.

'You.'

'Is that so?' She smiled, and shifted again – practically rippled against him. The feel of her body against his was maddening in the best way. She rolled off of him and looked at him through wisps of her hair. It took all the self-control he possessed not to cover her body with his, to press into her again so that he could listen to those wonderful wordless syllables she made only for him.

'Ryuho.' He looked at her looking at him. 'More. Now.' _Patience, princess_, he thought. He trailed a hand down her stomach and smirked as she looked at him with a vaguely cross expression, brows knitted.

'Please?' She was pouting, and it was utterly charming. Ryuho supposed this was what being young and in love was like, and figured they were making up for those lost teenage years of theirs. He secretly hoped it never came to an end.

'It's a magic word, even now,' he responded, unable to suppress a smile. She reached for him, a hungry look in her eyes. He settled himself above her, looking down on this woman – this woman who had resided only his dreams for years, and here she was in the flesh, looking at him expectantly, making subtle moves against him. Deciding not to test the limits of his self-control and hers, he took her again, as slowly as he could manage – just to listen to her gasps. She whispered nonsense into his ear, kissed him, nibbled along his neck. God, the feel of her was exquisite – he wanted her everywhere, wanted to keep this feeling always. She swallowed hard, took a raggedy breath.

'_Harder_.' A pause. 'Please.' He smiled against her neck.

What could one do but indulge a polite request from a lady?

* * *

_Move softly, move hardly at all, part your thighs,  
Take me slowly while our gnawing lips  
Fumble against the humming blood in our throats.  
Move softly, do not move at all, but hold me,  
Deep, still, deep within you, while time slides away,  
As the river slides beyond this lily bed,  
And the thieving moments fuse and disappear  
In our mortal, timeless flesh._

Kenneth Rexroth, "Floating"


End file.
